Spirit, show up!
by demitotal disaster
Summary: It was supposed to be a normal experience (or what Duck family understands for normal). Of course, nothing is normal even though you're an honorary family member. What they weren't expecting, though, is who it involved. [What If?]


"Is everything ready?" Lena had asked while arranging scented candles next to Violet, who occasionally stopped to observe in her book that everything was fine and moved some candles scarce, almost imperceptible inches.

"Yes," Violet smiled, last reviewing her book and then checking the door, "why will she take so long?"

For her part, the tallest duck sat on the opposite side crossing her legs, facing her sister with a smile.

"Patience, V. Though it's impossible, it's even hard to find salt and go unnoticed with this family, they have a keen eye in any situation."

Sure, they hadn't deciphered her relationship with Magica, but that had been because her aunt had managed to manipulate the pieces in her favor until the Shadow War. Particularly, Hoodie had been who developed a sharper eye.

Without realizing it, the teenager had begun to fiddle with her friendship bracelet while remembering the adventures she has had since she became Webby's friend, involving the rest of the family or not; though they have been scarce, each and every one having an impact on her short life.

"I'm sorry for being late!" Webby shrieked, slamming open the door, entering to close it with the same speed while still facing them, "Granny is preparing dinner, it was practically a challenge to take the salt without being discovered."

As she spoke, she took the small canister from the condiment of one of the pockets of her skirt, smiling with the pride present in her gaze as she sat next to Lena, the aroma of apples with cinnamon getting stronger every minute but without being harmful.

"Fortunately, we arrange it properly. If we do the rest of the steps well, we'll have our own friend from the next life" but despite the carefree timbre, in Violet's face was the apex of a smile while helping Webby spread the salt, always attentive to the indications the book gave them.

"I insist we should do this at your home, how about Uncle Scrooge discovers us?" Showing her nervousness, Webby fiddled with a strand of hair, curling it between two fingers.

But Lena snorted.

"Nah, our parents don't tolerate black magic and ghosts like this family. Also, if they attacks us, we can defend ourselves and say that it was some haunted object or what I know" making multiple gestures, she showed her point by letting a violet glow appear in her hand while still smiling broadly.

But still she perceived the uncertainty of the younger girl. She knew that despite facing demons, ghosts and monsters on a daily basis, she was unable to do something as banal as lying. Englabeth and Britania had resulted only because the Beagle Boys were stupid.

"We'll be fine, Webbs. If they didn't bother because I came back from the Shadow Realmand they welcomed me with open arms, why would they do it now?" Her smile had become forced to remember the events that involved her return, putting one hand on her waist and the other on the shoulder of the duck.

"Because they knew you unlike the spirit we could invoke." Violet answered for her, a sarcastic air in her voice as she finished putting the salt. "They may be friendly, though, and help us clean up later."

Webby sighed, seeing the ease and comfort in which the Sabrewing sisters unwrapped and smiled, the nervousness of being discovered present in her features but as excited as they were to participate in the invocation. True, they had Duckworth, and it was exciting, but being involved in the second appearance of a ghost?

Who knows. If they were lucky, which was unlikely, they will summon a member of the McDuck Clan.

She joined her hands with Lena and Violet's, the friendship bracelets shining immediately blue, said brightness invading the bodies of the three while the wind played with their clothes and hair but without blowing out the candles.

Where could it come fromwhen the vents only drove little and the windows were closed, they didn't know, but the emotion didn't even allow Violet to reason properly.

"What exactly must be said?" Webby muttered, feeling the signaturetickle that the use of magic brought with it, or at least the one that involves taking the hand of her best friends.

"Give me a minute, it's in Latin." Violet scrutinized her book as the spell began. The more she spoke, the scent of the candles began to spread throughout the room; maybe also to the halls, but they weren't really sure.

In the middle of the circle of salt, a figure began to take shape.

"It's working," suppressing screaming, Webby sighed happily, looking sideways at the concentration Lena was in, trying to get her magic to help the spell come out correctly; the book had warned that if they went wrong, they could end up in the Spirits Realm, to which she tried to contribute even if she did not have a magic handling as big as them.

However, Webby felt her body tense, and practically forced herself not to release their hands.

Gradually, Lena also felt weak. Maybe not in the same way as Pink, but how not to do it when it began to take shape?

Floating a few inches off the ground, the figure stretched both arms, growling when he felt the sharp pain sting in his shoulder once more.

He had horrible scars on his waist and legs, making Webby twitter, a few bruises on his eye and cheekbones and a few scratches on his beak.

However, the most characteristic was the hat and shirt, both sailor's and with multiple scratches, revealing a plumage that, though it was not so visible, looked reddish, accompanied by a strong stench of burnt flesh that would make anyone feel nauseous.

He had some bald spots wearing a darker blue, and spots onhalf body and hat that they really didn't want to know what they were from, and the duckling didn't want to know if those were scattered on the black shirt.

On the other hand, both Webby and Lena were speechless. No one knew what to say or how to act, seeing him rub his eye as if he were trying to take his sleep off after a day of heavy work and a well-deserved rest.

"...Donald?" But Violet didn't understand anything: she didn't know who he was, or why he looked so emaciated, much less the stunned expressions of his sister and friend.

But if Webby was on the verge of crying, it couldn't mean anything good.

Donald, however, froze when he saw the expressions of both girls, as well as when he looked around the place. He stayed in the salt circle, and Violet didn't know whether to stay alert or not.

Judging by the fact that they both kept quiet, he didn't give her a good thorn.

"Girls?" The duck was so surprised to see them, especially with Lena, though she didn't understand what he was saying because of her expression. The last thing he knew about her involvedMagica de Spell and the Shadow Realm, and the last thing he remembered seeing was the sky as he descended at a dizzying speed, sweating as the golden bullet began to bathe in fire as it entered the atmosphere.

What was he doing in the mansion? How had he managed to get there when his sight barely allowed him to perceive a small island in the middle of the ocean before crashing into it?

And he couldn't think too much about it when he saw the tears on Webby's face, letting go of Lena's hand and an unknown girl to cover her beak, trying vainly to cover the sobs and hiccups she let loose.

"Webby, honey, calm." He reached up to try to reach the girl's face even when he recognized that the effort was fruitless. However, at some point he felt an energy that inexplicably made him feel pain in his hand, observing that it came from a circle of salt that surrounded him.

Unknowingly, Webby had made it impossible for him to leave the circle by breaking contact early, but Lena couldn't claim her for it either.

"H-How?" She sobbed loudly, clinging tightly to Lena when her trembling hands touch her shoulders, "the cruise...?"

They were both sure to owe Violet an explanation, but they simply couldn't.

"It's a long story ..." or at least it was for him, who couldn't tell three girls about how he died crashing into an island, especially if it involved a golden bullet of a golden cannon in the moon.

They still had to prepare for the invasion. And he couldn't install one more weight on their little shoulders.

Lena swallowed, hugging Webby and feeling the huge lump in her throat.

Yes, he had been in the Shadow Realm and knew what it was like not to be able to touch and be with someone, but at least she was alive somehow, and now she really was: she was breathing, had her friends, and a life in front of her; Donald, however, no . She didn't know how, where and when; the last thing she had known about him was that he was relaxing on a cruise because, apparently, he was molting due to stress.

She wasn't crying, and she didn't like to see her always cheerful friend cry, but she couldn't help feeling bad for the unfortunate duck.

They were so self-absorbed that Donald did not know at what point he had begun to feel moisture on his cheeks, even if it was imperceptible and invisible; or that Violet was the least concentrated was in the presence of the sailor when she heard webbed feet approaching.

"Lass?" A Scottish voice rang as they knock on the door.

Scrooge had sensed a strange smell as he walked down the hall and headed to warn them that dinner was ready, a dichotomy of aromas that twisted his stomach.

"Dinner is ready." His hand hesitated as he turned the handle, slowly opening the door.

Violet's nervous expression was the last thing he saw before opening it completely, a heavy silence settling down.

Webby watched him nervously, her reddish, swollen eyes with tears while still clinging to Lena, who kept her hand on the back of the duck.

Behind them, Donald wrinkled his cap in his hands, an act he only performed when his emotions were in full bloom.

What disturbed him most was the state of his nephew.

"…How?" He repeated Webby's question in a voice thread, the Scottish accent being rougher and tightening his cane until his knuckles tightened.

But Donald was speechless, crying tears that could barely be seen. He had seen, specifically, how the smile on his uncle's face disappeared, his eyes widening.

No one knows what to say. And the girls can feel the tension in the air, about to be cut with a butter knife to such a degree that Webby's sobs had decreased in volume.

Donald sniffed, unknown to him if they can hear it or not. Somehow, he can't bear to see Uncle Scrooge. The shame? The fear? The melancholy? He didn't know, if he was honest with himself. He was simply in the other world, thinking of his family, of Della playing and telling stories to the boys. The next second he was there, in the mansion in front of his uncle after months and trying to see anywhere, even the silent girls, but him.

"I guess I never made it to the cruise? My bad luck, y'now? It did it again..." And he hadn't felt that way, not knowing what to say, since he started giving advice to the triplets."

And feeling so light when it was his emotions that weighed didn't help. A part of him wanted to tell his uncle at least what happened on the moon, but he had already caused enough problems and did not want to alter the senile duck anymore.

"Yes, y'now me, luck was never in my favor..." He laugh awkwardly, unnecessarily when he no longer had lungs or need oxygen to breathe, trying to ignore in vain how Scrooge's gaze became more forced, "but that's alright; you are fine, and you know what matters most to me."

_But how could it be alright? _The girls thought synchronously and frowning—it could be because of helplessness, anger or sadness, they didn't know. Lena and Webby were aware of the great love Donald had for his family unlike Violet, Webby acknowledging Donald's anger management whose debts he still owed; but she recognized that he could not see for them above himself.

Much less in the afterlife.

Meanwhile, **Scrooge?** He was probably the most horrified about the thought. He was a century and a half old, he knew the concept of death. He had seen Duckworth, he had seen people who did not remember the names.

But that doesn't mean he can take it, especially with... _this_ .

He wasn't there when Hortense and Quackmore passed away, only at his funeral with the wee ones. He wasn't there when Matilda passed away, all he could do was mourn in silence while his nephew and niece were with Gladstone, comforting him, empathic with the pain of losing your parents.

But he wasn't there when _he_... when _Donald_... when his so-_nephew_ passed away... but his _ghost_ was there, torturing him without realizing it. The twin that most reminded him of his sister. He was _there_... being visible, but untouchable making him want to vomit...

He had recovered Della, yes, and it was incredible, but in the process he had lost Donald, and it was like losing her again. Losing the other half of an amazing duo, but this time it was impossible to get it back.

And the worst part was that he didn't know _how_ or _when_.

"By the way..." he spoke again, pulling everyone out of their sea of thoughts, "how are the boys?"

And there he was, thinking again about his family rather than himself, a quality he kept from a childish promise that he made Della a Christmas and of which he had witnessed. Scrooge had to swallow the lump in his throat to preserve his pride.

"Och, they're fine, lad, ye knoo? Della came back and... they're trying tae recover teh lost time..." no, he hadn't forced to speak, thanks for asking. Though he was sure that, to remain present, the glow in his nephew's eyes had gone out. "They are showing her hoo much teh city changed."

And the simple thought that he could not see his sister again made him sad. To not go back to accompany her on adventures, nor listen to her painful jokes and bad puns, much less accompany her in the upbringing and growth of the triplets.

"Should we tell them when they return?" A female, unknown to him voice interrupted his thoughts, could easily be the girl who accompanied Webby and her friend. But he started, trying to ignore the chill that went through him feeling weightless.

"We can bring him to this plane, we just have to end the spell." Although doubtful, Lena separated slightly from the duckling, seeing that her crying had already diminished.

Webby nodded slowly. To Donald's surprise, his uncle, that grumpy skeptic of magic, especially black magic, came in by closing the door. He did not need to be a detective to discover that he was struggling not to regurgitate for some reason, unable to perceive the smell of candles and the stench he gave off.

"Count oan me, lassies," frowning, he fiddled with the string of his dime.

But he was not comfortable with the idea.

"No," he shook her head, keeping his head down when he felt the surprised looks of his uncle, niece and her friends, who for a moment seemed to understand him. "I appreciate that you want to try, seriously, but I couldn't... I couldn't stand to be seen like this, not in... _this_ state, and not being able to comfort them."

The sisters saw each other for a moment, ceasing to understand what Donald was saying but understanding the message when, in a desperate start, he pointed to himself, especially the bald and injured spots.

"They'll suspect when you didn't return from the cruise," mentioning it, Webby approached her uncle to hug him in his coat, her eyes glowing when the Scottish stroked her hair.

The room temperature began to drop, causing the candle fire to react dimly.

"I know, but..." he rub his eye, revealing that he was also crying.

"M'boy, Ah knoo it's hard." Scrooge raised his hand slowly and a few inches, stopping when he perceived how his nephew tensed while still hugging Webby with his other hand. He couldn't blame him; He couldn't remember the last time he called him that "but those lads are too perceptive, they'll know sooner or later."

"I'd rather later." He didn't hesitate to answer, breathing heavily. Pointless action being that he didn't need to breathe "but whatever it's, I wouldn't tolerate being seen that way."

The truth was that he preferred that they never find out. And even if they could possibly think the worst, he couldn't bear the guilt of being the one who hurt his babies—Della's.

They had endured Della's absence for ten years, but she had finally returned. But he didn't want to know how they could react to _his_ absence, especially when he didn't want to, thanks to the poor state of his body after the hard landing.

The phases of adolescence, high school, first love, Sadie Hawkins' dance, prom. Celebrate with them their admission to the college, even if it was online as in his case, when they get their degree.

When they got married, if they wanted to get married.

When they became parents, if they wanted to become parents.

All that he had the opportunity to share with his sister despite the Navy and the aviation school, he preferred to lose it than to see the faces of his nephews every time they saw him.

Scrooge sensed how the spirit clinked when a couple of candles went out thanks to the low temperature of the room.

"Are ye sure, lad?" He sighed, his hand still in the air. The duckling had begun to tremble in his grip and he could see the guilt in Donald's empty stare.

He looked over his shoulder at Lena next to the hummingbird, both playing clearly uncomfortable with similar bracelets with a clear interest in not interrupting... _whatever_ was going on with the family, and the duck smiled sadly at the moment a third candle went out and the salt circle looked partially ruined.

Apparently his little girl had made a new best friend, and he wouldn't have the chance to meet her better.

"Sure, _Unca'_ Scrooge." And the businessman tried not to break even more by perceiving the childish tone with which Donald called him, remembering that insecure wee bairn with a worse speech impairment who had entered the manor without letting go of his sister's hand after their parents died and began to live with him.

And Donald still had the same kindness back then not to mock the tears that began to invade his uncle's face. He knew it would be very cynical of him, and he smile at him between sobs.

He recognized that perhaps it was not the best decision, but it was _his_ and it was already made. And that was the _worst_ time to be born with the McDuck clan's stubbornness.

"Do you think we can talk to you at some other time?" With a hint of hope, Webby dared to separate from Scrooge and dubiously approach the sailor, who simply shrugged.

"I'm not really sure. You know that luck was never on my side, kiddo" smiling warmly, he made the gesture of wanting to ruffle the duckling, but he had less chance when his hand suddenly vanished.

That not even Lena or Violet reacted to it indicated how accustomed they were to the family occurrences.

"I better go, so I heard dinner is served."Folding his arms, he kept keeping that smile. A couple more candles blew out making him less visible "I'll trust that you will know how to protect the boys; I mean, you did it with Della and me."

When you had no idea how to be a legal guardian, not one but two rambunctious children, he wanted to add; but he had to admit that he would not contribute to the situation, so he preferred to shut up.

But before Scrooge had the opportunity to respond a breeze invaded the room, spreading the salt on the floor—forcing them to close their eyes, and extinguishing the small flames leaving behind a fine aroma of ash and, of course, apples with cinnamon.

In just an instant Donald had stopped being present. When they opened their eyes again there was not even the salt circle, as if nothing had happened and the only memory being the used candles.

A few seconds of non-enlightening silence invaded the peculiar group until the door was knocked open, startling them and causing Webby to hold on to his uncle's broadcloth coat again.

"Mr. McDuck, I think I was very clear that dinner could get cold..." Beakley entered the room keeping a stoic expression, stopping to perceive the tense expressions of his employer and the three girls, as well as the candles stop distilling smoke at their feet, as well as traces of salt and unusual smells, as well as an open book at Violet's feet. "Mr. McDuck? Girls? Everything's alright?"

Then she would talk to Webby about whatever was happening, before she should...

She said nothing when her granddaughter hugged her tightly by the legs, hiding her face in her apron to what she scooped her in her arms.

"Yes, yes, we were, ah... telling horror stories and she became sensitive." Lena repressed the urge to hit herself at the awful lie. It wasn't a secret that Webby was too brave for someone her age to train so much and face multiple adventures every day; smiling nervously when Beakley simply raised her eyebrow and Violet rolled her eyes. "Come on Vi, the last one to arrive cleans the room for a month!"

The hummingbird smiled, quickly following her sister while their laughter was heard in the hallway, Beakley showing greater confusion when Scrooge came out behind them without saying a word.

He did not fully understand what had just happened, then he would talk to Webbigail about the use of black magic under his roof, but on the other hand he did not know how to feel after his nephew's words, his own decision.

He didn't know how he would do it without requiring the black arts, but he would recover the lad whether he liked it or not. Not having the luck of the twins, he hoped he would be without any injuries, but he would recover him and have him again around the mansion or in the pool. He would have his laddieback and the triplets would know the truth.

But for now he would not say anything to them, not to them, not to Della, not even to Beakley or Duckworth, that if he did the job. He did not want to hurt his family again unless he failed and gave up.

Fortunately he was Scrooge McDuck, and he never gave up.


End file.
